The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Untitled
by Nahala Riddle
Summary: Alia was heading to her interview for the position of Journalist for the HGTTG when she was kidnapped by none other than Ford Prefect and Zaphod Beeblebrox. Soon she was spinning across the galaxy in one advcenture after another.
1. Chapter 1

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Book Five: Untitled

(This book has been left untitled in memory of Douglas Adams, the original Hitchhiker of the Galaxy and an infinite inspiration for many other aspiring journalists for the Guide. You are sorely missed, Douglas. Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha won't be the same without you.)

Chapter One: The Interview

The harsh bleeping of the ancient alarm clock sounded throughout the tiny cramped apartment. The room was messy, to say the least. To say the most, it was no less than a serious biological hazard.

In one corner stood a dresser, with metal drawers overflowing. A mound of dirty clothes stood in front of it, mostly mismatched socks growing different types of mold. To the right of the mound of clothes stood a dark six foot tall hominid form, silently waiting for something… More about that later. In the other corner, but not more than six feet away from the dresser, was the door to an even tinier bathroom.

A cardboard and black marker sign hung on the door. _Caution_, it read. _Sometimes hot water will run, sometimes it won't. Depends on how bad you need it. _The shower inside seemed akin to a giant ball of blue and yellow striped fungus, with a few brush marks on the wall showing feeble attempts to remove it. Not that it was anyone's fault that the fungus was there. It was actually a sentient being that had feelings and thoughts, however dull, and any attempts to remove it would result in serious injury. The mirror in the bathroom was actually clean, but the sink below it was extremely rusty and small. The toilet was clean, thank god, although the thing in the shower was sending a few tendrils towards it.

Outside of the bathroom, taking up half of the miniature room was an ancient hoverbed. It didn't really hover, bur rested on the floor. So much for that. Various blankets in different stages of thread bareness covered a still form. An arm came out from under the blankets and groped for the alarm clock that sat on the dresser. Finding it, the arm grasped it and threw it against the wall.

It stopped ringing, and the hominid female in bed sat up and threw the covers off. She was rather tall, about five foot eight, with human characteristics. Five fingers, four limbs, and two blue eyes. Her long dyed purple hair was sticking up in random directions, and she wore an over-long t-shirt as a nightdress. Kricket Championships 2000, it read in large red letters that were stained and ripped. The hominid's name was Alia Quintalas, and her home planet had been blown up several years ago by a Vogon Constructor Fleet. Alia had lost everything save for a ratty old bath towel and the nightshirt she had happened to be wearing when a strange alien had appeared and beamed her off the planet into the nearest Vogon spaceship. She had only just managed to hide from the aliens, and escape the next time they had made port, a week later.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Six already?" she mumbled, looking at the upside-down clock against the far wall. Aliastretched and yawned, and stumbled to the bathroom.

The green tendrils on the floor grew several eyeballs to look at her, but quickly shrank back when Alia aimed a blaster from beside the sink at them. "Bloody mushroom." she muttered, washing slime off a toothbrush. Alia scrubbed her teeth with a cinnamon-y toothpaste, and then stumbled to the shower, grimacing at the slightly green water that came out of the rusty showerhead when she was able to turn the rusty handle. She really needed to see her landlord about that.

Of course, this had proved rather impossible since he had spent the last five years at a bar in the middle of town and showed no desire to leave or charge her rent, a fact that had caused her to rent the apartment in the first place.

Alia showered as quickly as possible, once again noting that the fungus in the shower was quite slippery when wet and had grown several inches once again. "You need to shrink." she said to it, grabbing a dirty towel from the floor. "I can hardly fit into there." When it didn't respond, Alia shook a bottle of hydrochloric acid at it menacingly, and it quickly thinned out. "Better." she muttered, raking a brush through her hair, pulling out the knots and snarls that had somehow gotten there during the night.

Alia frowned at the mirror, and tapped the brush against her leg. "Loose or tied back?" she mused, fiddling with an elastic ponytail holder. "Loose, dude. It's like, totally natural and in flow with nature, man." Alia jumped two feet into the air, grabbed her blaster on the way down, and hot the floor with it leveled. In the doorway stood the six-foot tall robot from the corner.

He was hominid, with long, gangly brushed copper arms and legs, and an oval shaped head with large round green eyes. He wore a leather peace sign on a leather cord around his neck.

She sighed and put the blaster down. "Henry, you scared the heck out of me. Did I forget to turn you off last night?" The large robot shook it's head. "No, man. I just felt your natural frequencies signal that you were awake. You need to relax, dude, your aura is like, really agitated." Alia shrugged as she fit a black hair band onto her head, leaving her hair long and flowing. "Yeah, my interview is today! Of course I'm nervous!" she said sharply back. "Oh, right. What job is it, again, dude?" Alia sighed. He didn't approve of her new possible job, saying that she should be a medicinal healer. Medicinal healer her foot! "I'm interviewing for the post of journalist for the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." she said patiently. "Oh, yeah. I get a bad feeling about that job, dude. You should become a medicinal healer. That feels much safer."

Ignoring him, Alia walked past him out of the bathroom and poked her head into the closet cautiously. There was actually a CLEAN outfit hanging up. Amazing. She grabbed it, changed into it, and glanced at the blue alarm clock that was still against the wall. She still had enough time to eat breakfast before going to her job interview. While she purused the fridge for something edible, Alia's mind raced back to the day before, when she had seen the advertisement in the morning paper.

She had been shoving some sort of garbage down her mouth in preperation for her day as a waitress at the Rusty Robot, a pub nearby which was the only place which would employ her. She had seen an ad in small black print, sandwiched between an advertisement for Sirius Robotics Corp. and wanted ad for a missing robot. WANTED, it read in bold letters. Someone with a sense of adventure who loves to travel. Preferably w/ journalism skills. The Hitchikers's Guide to the Galaxy needs a new writer. Report tomorrow at 7:00 P.M. in the Rusty Robot pub, Table Fourty-Two, to talk with our interviewer if interested. Possible planet postings include Urquion, Theala VI, and more!

Alia had immediately checked her calendar. Her shift the next day did not begin until nine, so if the interview didn't work out, she could still report to work. If it actually did work out, then she would have ample time to sneak out of the barw without seeing her boss, run home and get her things, and get on the spaceship to the training facility. Hopefully she wouldn't have to ever see Hecredes II ever again. Alia finally found something that was edible in the cupboard- A box of something that looked like it had once been some sort of thin lunch wafers. Now it was a box without a label full of crumbs. She titled the box back and poured the crumbs into her mouth, spilling several onto the floor, but she didn't worry about it. If she got the job, she was never coming back, save to pack up her things. If she didn't get the job, well, it was just another drop in the rapidly expanding ocean of decay.

She finished "breakfast" and headed out the door towards the Rusty Robot, not knowing what waited in store for her there…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Ford Prefect

Ford Prefect needed to kidnap somebody. The question was, how? It was obvious, really, he thought as he made his way to the bar of the Rusty Robot. A couple drinks and he'd be able to do anything, including kidnapping a journalist who was about to take his position at the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He tried not to think about the month before, when he had been fired following an incident with a duck, a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, and a bowl of ramen noodles. It had not been his fault at all, he thought. Well, maybe a little bit. But not much! He sent down a drink to soothe his nerves, and several others to make sure that the other one knew exactly what to do. Having been suitably inebriated, he had a hard time focusing on the figure of the recently arrived Zaphod Beeblebrox next to him. "Hiya, Zaphod." He slurred, wondering why Zaphod had twice as many heads as normal.  
Zaphod's one head poured a drink down it's gullet, while the other grinned froodily at Ford. "Hi, Ix." He hiccupped. "Whatcha doin here?" Ford sighed. "Pleeshze don't call me thaht, Zaphod." He reminded his old friend, grabbing for another drink and missing it by about three feet. Not surprising, as he had currently had about four Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters down his gullet. "Ah'm gonna kidnahap th' journalisht who's gonna take mah positshun at ta Guide." Zaphod grinned loopily. "Shounds like a lotta fun. Yeh got fired?" he asked.

While the two old friends were slurring a conversation, Mira walked in.

"Whoooeee!" Zaphod said, pointing drunkenly at Mira. "Lookit that number, Ixsh." He grinned stupidly at Mira, who ignored him and headed over to Table Forty-Two, where the interviewers were sitting.

Ford sat up as she walked over. If she got the position, he would have no problem kidnapping her and holding her for ransom. Heck, she looked like she might be a fun gal, she might even go along willingly.

MIRA"S POV:

She ignored the drunken man at the bar, not even noticing that he was Zaphod Beeblebrox. She was so used to seeing drunken guys smiling at her that she just tuned them out. A pity, since she actually had quite a crush on the famous president.

There was one person sitting at table Forty-Two. He was absolutely ridiculous, in the most ridiculous sense of the word. Ridiculously clean, sensible, and sane.

BRIEF(or not) NOTE:

Hitchhiker's Definition of Sane: In this universe, no one is clean, sensible, or sane. Everyone is completely, utterly wacko. If someone appears to be sane, they are often evil, deluded people who may actually be completely schizophrenic. Even you, holding this book and wondering why in the world you are reading this garbage when you have a million better things better to do. Like worry about the Saenuh, a ferocious beast with close to a million teeth (no one has actually ever counted them, as most scientists who have attempted to do so are either eaten, or take one look at the beast, turn white and wobbly, and say "Oh, well, that's close enough to a million") that's on your tail and you, desperately running, shouted "Sane!" and we gave you this answer instead of the one you are really looking for. If indeed this is the case, please shout "Sane, you stupid book!" again at the tone. BEEEP!

END OF NOTE (we now return to our thrilling adventure serial)

Mira stared at the man. He had on a ridiculously sane suit. He had on a ridiculously clean hat. He had on ridiculously clean and polished shoes. Mira stared as he extended a ridiculously manicured hand and spoke in a ridiculously soft, well-measured voice.

"How nice to see you, Mira. Have a seat." He said, smiling a ridiculously kind smile. Mira sat down, unsure of how to act.

"You know my name?" she asked him. He nodded.

"Yes, I do. In fact, I know a lot about you." He smiled a smile that seemed sane, kind, and calm, but only made Mira feel more nervous. This is a tribute to the fact that the universe cannot stand sane things.

"Oh. Um. I'm here to interview for the position of journalist?" she asked, feeling slightly queasy for some reason. The man's ridiculously polite, bland face was starting to make her feel uneasy.

"Ah. Yes. What kind of experience have you had in the field?" he asked pleasantly, sitting back and studying Mira. She shifted again in her seat, wondering irrationally if Henry had been right and maybe she should have become a medicinal healer instead.

"Um. Well, I love to travel, I have a sense of adventure... I wrote for a paper back on my home planet, I have a Master's degree in astrophysics...." she rambled on, the ridiculously sane man nodding pleasantly and commenting on her achievements.

Ford Prefect watched loopily as the girl talked to the interviewer, wondering if her hair really was violet or if that was just the drinks. He grinned at Beeblebrox next to him.

"Hey- do you think her hair really is that color?" he asked him, his voice happily insane. Beeblebrox's wobbly gaze settled on the woman, and he shrugged.

"Violet? Yeah, man. Froody, huh?" he set the fifth pan-galactic gargle blaster down as the Mira girl stood up and shook hands with a very strange man. Ford glanced at the man uneasily- he did not look like he was from the Guide- in fact, he looked very dangerous. Too sane and clean and... he shuddered.

"Hey, man, I think we should kidnap her now if we're gonna do it." Beeblebrox told Ford with a grin. Ford nodded, trying to stand up- he had to grab the counter as he did so.

"YAHHHH!" Ford let out a fearsome yell, ran towards the girl, and wrapped his towel around her neck.

"What the hell! LET GO OF ME THIS- Hrrackkglle!" Mira yelled, her voice ending in a gurgle as the person wrapped a towel around her neck. Then, incredibly, the President of the Galaxy, Zaphod Beeblebrox, appeared next to her, a blaster pointed at her head.

"Right! We're taking this girl prisoner-" Mira yelled something incredibly rude from under the tower- "And all of you need to lay down on the floor!" people there were screaming, crying, praying, but laid down obediently on the floor.

"Uh... so what do we do now?" He asked Ford, looking at him, the gun in his hand wobbling several inches. Ford looked out the window to see several police cars pulling up-

"Run- where's the back door?" he yelled at his prisoner.

NOTE: *yes, another one! Mwahahaa!* The phrase "where is the back door?" is one that is used far more than most people expect. For example, if you happen to be in someone's house and suddenly discover that it was their sister who you accidentally set the police force of half the galaxy on at the exact same time they do, it would do you well to know where all the possible exits are. Similarly, if you are at a very nice party and suddenly say something utterly embarrassing, finding the location of an exit would prove a most worthy endeavor. Or, in the extremely likely event you find yourself being chased by the giant hamster vampire poodle ponies of Acretizon 6, knowing a way out of there would also be a life-saving event. In Ford and Zaphod's condition, this question was no less essential to their immediate survival.

END OF NOTE

"Mhhhrgalllmmpph!" Mira screamed through the towel. Ford looked at her for a moment, then removed the towel from her mouth. She looked at him, then at Zaphod, sighed, then pointed at a rusty fixture of a door behind the bar, then was immediately and unceremoniously slung over Ford's shoulder.

"Excellent!" Zaphod cried, running and pulling Ford, and Mira behind him. The kidnappers burst out of the door at full speed, sprinted across the lawn in the back, cleared the fence by a good foot, and skidded to a halt in front of a round, white spaceship that (for informative purposes for out readers) was the Heart of Gold.

"Let me go this instant!" Mira yelled, pounding at Ford's back with her fists. "I said LET ME GO!!!" Her cries became ineffective once more as Ford wrapped the towel around her mouth and quickly ran into the spaceship.

Zaphod was already at the control panel, booting up systems and engines. After a moment's consideration, Ford tied his prisoner to a passenger's seat, using his towel and tying several infinitely complicated knots so that she could speak, but not move.

As soon as her mouth was at liberty again, Mira started yelling at the two men with full throat. "You let me go this instant- what do you think you're doing, you #$^%^#^%#*#^#*!!!"

Zaphod groaned as he lifted the ship off of the ground, his hands extremely wobbly and causing the ship to drop several feet. Mira screamed slightly as it did so.

"You idiots, never drive a spaceship drunk, you'll get all of us KILLED!" she yelled. Zaphod groaned again, putting his fingers in his ears.

"Ford, could you please put the towel over her MOUTH?!?" he asked, a pained expression on his face. Ford nodded, starting forward towards the girl, freezing in his tracks as she pierced him with a death glare worthy of a mother.

"Don't you dare, buddy." She snarled at him. He retreated several steps, then decided to sit down. _Now... what to do with her...?_ he wondered, glancing out the window as they rose high above the trees, and then, with the blink of an eye, they were in the empty vastness of space.

"So, where do we want to go?" Zaphod said, switching the controls to autopilot. Ford opened his mouth, but never got the chance to answer, as a strange figure moved into the room and spoke, it's voice sending chills through all on board.


End file.
